by La Jill Hunt
Turning her radio up, she tried to relax and forget about arguing with her sister. Just as she was about to pass the gas station right outside of her neighborhood, she decided to stop and get something for her head. She pulled into the parking lot and parked beside a silver Mercedes. Just as she was about to get out of the car, she spotted Sherrod coming out of the store, talking on his cell phone. She knew it was almost six o’clock, and she wondered exactly what time he was meeting Nivea for drinks. Dressed in a pair of jeans, a Vanderbilt University T-shirt, and some Nike sneakers, he definitely wasn’t wearing what she would call date attire, especially not to Jasper’s, one of their favorite spots.
“Hey,” she said.
He glanced up and looked at her strangely, then put the phone down. “Hey, you. What are you doing on this side of town?”
“Leaving my sister’s house.”
“Is something wrong? You look like you’ve been crying.” He stepped closer to her, and she could smell the scent of his John Varvatos cologne, which she loved.
“I have a slight headache,” she told him. “I’ll be all right.”
“Okay, feel better,” he told her.
“Thanks.” She waved and went into the store. While inside, she glanced up and saw him sitting in the Benz she had parked beside. He was a nice guy, good looking and decent. Nivea may just have gotten a winner.
When she walked out, he was still sitting there on his cell phone. She got into her car and left. By the time she got home, she was exhausted and didn’t feel well at all. She took a long, hot shower and climbed into bed.
Just as she drifted off to sleep, her phone rang.
“Get dressed and let’s go!” Nivea told her.
“What? I am in the bed. I don’t feel good. Besides, I thought you had a date with Sherrod,” she groaned.
“He flaked out on me. Called and said something came up and he couldn’t make it. So now I’m all dressed up with nothing and no one to do.” Nivea sighed.
“Were you planning on doing him? So soon?” Janelle asked, curious about whether that was what Nivea and Sherrod had planned all along.
“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. You know you never can tell with me.” Nivea laughed.
Janelle knew her best friend was telling the truth. Nivea was an extremist, and when it came to men, there was no method to her madness. Some guys had to wait her out for months to even get a glimpse at the goodies, and others got a sample on the first date. It truly depended on how she felt. She was a free spirit who lived by her own rules, and Janelle had given up on trying to figure her out a long time ago.
A wave of nausea overcame her, and she quickly told Nivea she had to go. She barely made it into the bathroom and over the commode, where she threw up repeatedly. Beads of sweat formed on her head, and she was hot. She slowly crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over her. It was going to be a long night.
* * *
It was official; Janelle was sick. She rarely got ill, but not even the taste of Aunt Connie’s homemade seafood gumbo was enough to get her out of bed. She spent all day Sunday traveling between her bed and her bathroom. She was miserable. On Monday morning, she called her boss and told him she was dying and wouldn’t be making it into the office. He told her he hoped she felt better soon and he would check on her in a couple of days.
By Monday afternoon, she mustered up enough strength to get to the urgent care doctor’s office, where they confirmed that she indeed had the dreaded flu and called in a prescription to the pharmacy. She went straight home to what was now the safest place on earth to her—her bed.
She thought she was dreaming when her home phone rang. No one ever called her on it unless it was an emergency.
“Hello,” she moaned.
“How are you feeling?” a male voice asked.
She tried to figure out who it was, but she didn’t recognize it. “Who is this?”
“This is your friendly neighborhood pharmacist calling to check on you.”
“Sherrod?” Her voice perked up a bit, but she still sounded like a man.
“Do you have another friendly pharmacist?” he asked.
She smiled slightly. “No, not one that stalks me like you do. How did you know I was sick?”
“I filled the meds your doc called in. I was waiting for you to come and pick them up, but you didn’t. We’re closing up, and I wanted to know if you want me to drop them off,” he said.
“Closing? What time is it?” she asked, trying to see the time on her phone.
“Almost ten.”
Janelle hadn’t realized it was that late. When she got home from the doctor, her intentions were to sleep until about six, then get up to go to the store. She checked her cell phone and saw that she had missed several calls, mostly from her aunt and Nivea, both of whom she knew were checking on her.
“I didn’t realize it was that late. Thanks, but you don’t have to,” Janelle told him.
“Are you sure? You’re not gonna feel any better until you take them, and I’m pretty sure you need them. I don’t mind, and it’s on my way home,” he offered.
“If you don’t mind, I would appreciate it,” she said, relieved that she wouldn’t have to leave the house.
“I’ll be there in about thirty minutes,” Sherrod told her.
“Okay,” Janelle said. She sat up, telling herself that at least she had time to take a shower before Sherrod got there, but when she stood up, she felt dizzy and quickly sat back down. She hoped she would have enough energy to make it down the steps of her condo to open the door when he arrived.
A little while later, she heard the ringing of her doorbell. Dressed in an oversized T-shirt, some sweatpants, and socks, she wrapped herself up in a blanket and slowly made it downstairs.
“Whoa,” he said when she opened the door. He had several bags in his hands, along with a small bouquet of flowers.
Janelle knew if she looked anything like she felt, then it was pretty bad—but she didn’t care. “Come in.”
Sherrod followed her inside and down the hallway into the living room. Janelle plopped down on the sofa and fell to the side. The trip from her bedroom, downstairs, then into her living room had taken every bit of her energy, and she felt like she was dying.
“Well, I guess I don’t need to ask how you’re feeling.” Sherrod laughed. “Where is your kitchen?”
“To your right,” she answered, her head still slumped on the arm of her sofa. “And I’m glad you find this so amusing.”
“Hey, I don’t really feel bad. I recall offering you a flu shot on three different occasions, and you declined. You said you never get the flu,” he reminded her.
“I don’t. You did this to me. Admit it,” Janelle moaned. She could hear the opening and closing of her refrigerator and cabinets and the sound of ice being placed in a glass. Any other time she would be worried that there was a strange man she barely knew in her kitchen, but she could only hope and pray that Sherrod didn’t turn out to be a serial rapist and she wouldn’t end up as inspiration for a new episode of Law and Order SVU. She leaned and stretched her arm, reaching for the coffee table. Grabbing the remote to the television, she turned it on, hoping to catch a rerun of Real Housewives of Atlanta. Within a few minutes, she dozed off again.
“Come on, sit up for a minute.” Sherrod’s voice woke her up.
She glanced up and saw that he was standing in front of her, holding a baking sheet that he had turned into a makeshift tray. On it was a bowl of soup, a steaming cup of tea, a glass of orange juice, and a bottle of water, none of which were in her kitchen prior to his arrival.
“You need to drink, because I know you’re dehydrated, and you need to try and eat a little something before you take these meds.”
Janelle sat up and stared at him as he set the tray on the coffee table in front of her. He gently touched her forehead, and she shuddered as a chill went down her spine. She didn’t know if it was because she was feverish or because of how gentle
his touch was.
“You didn’t have to do all of this,” she whispered.
“I know. But I also know how sick you are if your doctor called in all these meds, and when you didn’t come pick them up, I was worried about you. What do you wanna drink first?” he asked.
Janelle looked at her choices and said, “Water.”
He opened the bottle of VOSS water and passed it to her.
She took a long swallow, nearly drinking the entire bottle in one swig. “Oh my God, that was the best water I ever had.”
“Here, eat this.” He passed her the bowl of soup. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Janelle looked into the bowl and was pleased to see it was chicken and rice, her favorite. She slowly took a few spoonfuls and savored the taste as it went down her throat.
“It’s good,” she said, taking a few more bites.
“I’m glad you like it. I take pride in my culinary skills.” He gave himself a slight pat on the chest.
“Don’t you mean your can opening skills?” She giggled.
“I’m gonna let that one pass because you’re ill,” he told her. He reached on the table and took the remote, changing the channels just as NeNe Leakes was yelling on the screen. “Why do you watch this ridiculousness?”
“It’s not ridiculous; it’s entertainment. What do you call this?” Janelle asked, referring to SportsCenter, which was now playing on the TV.
“This is educational and informative,” Sherrod said matter-of-factly.
“It’s the same stuff over and over. The scores aren’t gonna change,” she said between spoonfuls of soup.
“It’s not just about the scores, woman. It’s much more than that,” he told her.
“Whatever.” Janelle placed her now empty bowl back on the tray. She felt a little better, but she was still exhausted. Just as she was about to lay back down, he stopped her.
“Time for meds,” Sherrod said as he opened the bottles and poured the pills into her hand one by one. “This one is definitely gonna make you sleepy, but you won’t be nauseous anymore, especially now that you’ve eaten.”
“Good, but trust me, I can’t sleep any harder than I’ve been sleeping the past two days,” she told him.
“We’ll see if you say that tomorrow when you wake up.” He passed her the juice, and she drank it.
“You’re such a nice guy,” she said and sat back on the sofa.
Sherrod took the glass away from her, and then he stood up, clearing up her mess. He left the water and the tea for her on the table.
“I try to be. You need anything else?” he asked.
“No, everything is perfect,” she mumbled. Her eyes were getting heavy, and she pulled the blanket around her as she lay back. The last thing she remembered was hearing that annoying SportsCenter theme song.
When she woke up, Sherrod was gone, NeNe and the other housewives of Atlanta were back on her television, and the bouquet of flowers was in a small vase on the table beside her bottle of water, along with several women’s’ magazines and tabloids. The bottles of medicine were also there, and on a piece of paper, specific instructions about how to take them, handwritten by Sherrod, including his phone number. He told her to call if she needed anything else.
He is a really nice guy, Janelle thought as she looked at the note, smiling.
Sylvia
“Are you going to be able to make the appointment this afternoon?” Sylvia asked Garry as she made the bed. He was in the sitting area of the bedroom where he still slept nightly. They had been making an effort to communicate better, especially since, as far as she could tell, he was being honest.
“Just let me know where and what time,” Garry told her. “I will be there.”
She thought back to days ago, when they had come to the crossroads that they were now at. Later that night, after Jordan had come back home and been disciplined, and everyone had finally gone into their rooms, she and Garry sat down across from one another and talked.
* * *
“Where did you meet her?” Sylvia had asked. She figured this would be a great place to start, especially since it was where Miranda had started in the letter.
Garry took a deep breath and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, he looked at her and said, “We met at a funeral home.”
“A funeral home?” Sylvia frowned. Miranda said the two met at a time of great sadness for both of them, but she hadn’t mentioned a funeral home.
“Yes, I was making arrangements for my father; she was making arrangements for her fiancé, who was killed during an armed robbery.”
“You told me you didn’t know your father,” Sylvia said.
“I didn’t. But for some reason, when he died, I was located as his next of kin. So, I had to make the arrangements.” He looked down at the floor.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sylvia frowned at him.
“Because you had just lost—we had . . . I mean, your father, then your mother, and then . . . you had already dealt with enough, Syl. I didn’t want to add anything else for you to deal with. It would’ve been too much,” he said, slowly shaking his head.
Sylvia already knew what he meant. She had done her own calculating in her head as she read the letter and come to the realization that Miranda and Garry met weeks after she suffered a miscarriage. She couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes even if she wanted to. Garry reached out for her hand, and she quickly pulled it back.
“Go ahead, keep talking,” she told him. This wasn’t the time for his affection or comfort; it was time for his honesty. She wanted both of them to focus on the subject at hand.
“I mean, that’s where we met. It was the weirdest thing, because I was the only family that my father had, and she felt bad because I was all alone, so we talked. The services for both of them were at the same time, right across the hall from one another. A month later, I went back to Drakesville to take care of some final paperwork. I went into this bar, and she was there. We talked and had some drinks—well, a whole lot of drinks, and I went home with her. I know, I know, it’s so cliché, and I know being drunk is no excuse for what I did. But it happened. I really don’t even remember having sex with her. I just remember putting on my clothes and leaving her apartment.”
Sylvia continued to listen. So far, what he was saying was what Miranda had explained in her letter, somewhat. She allowed Garry to continue.
“A few months later, she called me and told me she was pregnant. When she told me, I thought she was just sharing her news, until she told me that there was a possibility that I was the father. I swear, I was confused and didn’t know what to do.” Garry finally looked up at her.
“You should have told me,” Sylvia whispered.
“I didn’t know how. I couldn’t. I thought about it, but I just couldn’t. In my mind, I loved you too much, and I knew it would break your heart. And I didn’t want to risk doing that until I knew for sure that I was indeed the father. I decided to wait and see.” He blinked, then looked down again.
“When did you find out? Because you’re in the pictures with Jordan when she was born.” Sylvia waited for his answer. She wondered if Garry had been in the delivery room with Miranda, holding her hand and encouraging her to push the same way he had been by her side when she delivered Peyton. The thought of him sharing that intimate moment with someone other than her was enough to crush her, and she wondered if she was going to be able to handle the truth now that she had asked him for it.
“I went to the hospital the day after she was born. One look at Jordan and Miranda knew she had to be mine,” he said.
Hearing that he hadn’t been there when Miranda had the baby made her feel a little better. Childbirth was an experience he’d only shared with her. She remembered seeing the pictures of a newborn Jordan and told him, “She looks just like you.”
“Miranda knew that I was in a terrible position. She knew how much you and Peyton meant to me, and how much I loved and valued my family. We
agreed that I would be a father and a provider for Jordan, and when the time was right, I would tell you. The time just never seemed to be right,” Garry said.
“Did you ever sleep with her again?” Again, Sylvia asked one of the questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers to, and she held her breath as she waited for Garry’s response.
“Never. I never even spent the night. Miranda and I were co-parents, and, I admit, we were friends. She didn’t have much family of her own other than Jordan and me. She remained close with her fiancé’s brother, but that’s about it. Her focus was all about Jordan. She doted on her and spoiled her rotten, but she was a great mom,” he told her.
Sylvia knew that Miranda was a good mom. Garry confirmed everything that she had written in the letter. The fact that she praised Garry as a father and a provider came as no surprise to her. He prided himself on being everything that his father wasn’t.
“Is there anything else you need to tell me? Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Yes,” Garry told her. “You need to know that I love you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I never did any of this to hurt you. I appreciate you, and I know the same way you don’t deserve any of this, I don’t deserve you, but I am not going to lose you.”
“Is that it?” She peered at him.
“That’s it.” He nodded emphatically.
They stood up and stared at one another. Garry slowly took a step toward her and took her by the hand. This time, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she allowed him to take her into his arms and hold her tight. At first, she remained still, unmoving in his tight embrace. Then, she felt something stir within and allowed herself to enjoy the security of her husband’s body. Her arms wrapped around him, and she buried her head in his chest and cried, releasing all of the emotions she had been holding within. As he held her tight, whispering how much he loved her, she glanced up and saw that he was crying too. It was then that she realized that she was not in this fight alone.
“I will text you the address for the therapist,” she told him and walked out of the bedroom.